


Gloriana

by AnnaTaure



Series: A History of the Tudor Queens [2]
Category: 16th Century CE RPF, Historical RPF, The Tudors (TV)
Genre: Child Death, Execution, F/M, Minor Character Death, Not Beta Read, we die like amateur historians
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-09
Updated: 2020-08-09
Packaged: 2020-08-13 17:55:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 12
Words: 22,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20178364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnaTaure/pseuds/AnnaTaure
Summary: Her mother barely buried, Elizabeth Tudor faces a whole world of new challenges, both personal and public, the increasing threat from Spain and the growing instability in Europe as religious wars begin to tear the continent apart.





	1. Alice on the other side of the mirror

**Author's Note:**

> Look who's back...  
A little warning before we begin : this story is still a work in process and a lot of it exists as a draft, so I will likely not be able to post as regularly as I did for the first part of the series.  
Anyway, I hope you'll enjoy this one just as much :)

_May 1553_

After the Queen-mother’s funeral, no one had time to pause and reflect on the past. The matters of the realm went before anything else. Elizabeth tried to reassure herself: she had a whole team of competent ministers and councilors, who did not get into power as complete novices. On the eve of her first solo council, her stomach was nonetheless in knots. Unusually for him, in order to soothe her nerves, Charles suggested he could remain by her side, at least until all the ministers were used to receiving orders from a young woman who could have been their daughter – or granddaughter. Elizabeth accepted gratefully.

One of the first orders of business for the council was the marriage of Princess Alice. 

Four years prior, a betrothal had been set between Alice Tudor and Luigi de Este. It was time to honor the contract signed by the Queen-mother, and to celebrate the wedding. The duke had accepted to delay after Queen Anne’s death, but they could not do so anymore. 

# # 

Alice was sitting on the window sill, her legs hitting the bricks of the wall. She would leave soon for Italy. In spite of her betrothed’s kind… and impatient letters, she was not in a hurry to leave her island. All her life was there. She understood that Elizabeth would not feel so timid at the thought of traveling abroad: for a queen, it would always be temporary. Alice shrugged; she was acting a bit like a spoiled brat. No doubt because, unlike her sister, she had benefited longer from the attention and presence of her parents. For twelve years she had had them both whereas Lisbeth had lost her sire at barely four. According to the young queen, it had not made much of her difference. Even when Henry Tudor was still alive, it had always been someone else who had told her stories, played with her… whether it was her uncle George, her music teacher Smeaton or even the kitchen boys in Hatfield, during the few months of Queen Anne’s exile in Pembroke. 

She heard the door of her room open behind her, and the sound of high heels hitting the floorboards. 

“Two pence for your thoughts, little sister?” 

“They are worth more than this”, Alice mock-complained. “Oh, in fact, not so much. It was not really philosophical.” 

“A bit of melancholy?” Elizabeth inquired. 

“Precisely, Your perceptive Majesty. It will feel very strange to leave England and discover a brand new country.” 

“At least your father bothered to explain the many Italian policies in detail, lent you history and geography books… and you speak Italian fluently.” 

Alice turned her dark eyes towards her elder sister. 

“I will not even ask you how you understood I was his daughter.” 

“Easily,” the young queen admitted, lightly pulling on one of Alice’s black curls. “There were only three men at Court who could have given you this lovely hair. One was in Rome at the time of your conception, the second was too much of a braggart to receive our mother’s trust… Only one option remained. You were lucky.” 

“Are you not cross with me?” 

“Are you jesting? It served me well. I was more his pupil than his little girl, of course, but if I had to chose between the late king and him… the decision would be quick.” 

Both sisters remained silent for a while, then Elizabeth rose from her seat and dusted her dress. 

“Take heart. I am certain you will have a grand time in Italy.” 

Alice was not so sure, for her part, but she did not want to contradict her sister, and her queen even less. 

# # 

That night, the young woman left her room, tiptoeing on the floorboards, curious to see the gifts sent by her future husband, before their official presentation to the Court. 

A candlestick in hand, Alice walked silently towards the main reception hall. The paving was ice cold under her feet but she did not want to be discovered during her nightly escapade. The thick sable cloak she wore would compensate the missing shoes. 

She entered the large room and headed towards the trestle tables lined under the musicians’ stand. The wooden boards had been draped in dark velvet and when she lifted her candle, the shadows in the room danced with its reflections on gold and silver, and the colored spots of precious gems. 

Alice walked along the table one way, then the other, leaning over it from time to time to gaze at the jewels more closely. Elizabeth had not done things by halves for her sister’s wedding basket, and the duke of Ferrara had not wished to pass for a miser either. It was the second time his family managed to snatch a royal princess, the event should be properly celebrated. Rubies, pearls, emeralds… she let her hand run over the jewels and then left, her steps light, smiling. 

# # 

One more week was needed to fill the princess’ luggage and gather the last parts of her trousseau. Dresses, shirts, gloves, short capes, shoes, laces, furs, bolts of silk and brocade for future clothes, jewels, books, tapestries… were piling in wooden chests reinforced with iron, and closely watched by the royal guards. 

Then it was time to leave. Once her sister was in her coach, Elizabeth rode her own horse, having decided she would follow the cortege along the Thames until it reached the gates of London. Charles was riding by her side, with a fraction of the courtiers. Alice only had one lady-in-waiting with her, the rest of her retinue setting as best as they could in half a dozen coaches which themselves preceded the baggage train. 

It seemed that all the inhabitants of the capitol had gathered along the path to wish good luck to the princess, and the royal archers were hard-pressed to keep some order in the streets. 

At the city gates, Alice left the coach and curtsied one last time to her sister, who in answer bowed her head then quickly put two fingers to her lips and blew a kiss to her. The people cheered. Then it was time to resume the trip, and the princess took the road to Dover while the queen made her mount turn back to Whitehall. 

# # 

The journey lasted three days so much the magistrates made speeches on her way, and when the cortege reached its destination, there was still an impressive crowd massed on the piers of Dover, shouting and throwing flowers towards the coach, wishing happiness and joy to the princess. Alice, for her part, showed a rather artificial smile, as it was the first time she would travel on a ship. The barges circulating on the Thames did not really count, and would not prepare you properly for a sea crossing. Much to her shame, the young woman spend the day locked up in her cabin, her stomach completely upside-down. If she never went back aboard a ship it would still be too soon for her. 

She had at least a good surprise as she arrived in Calais, when a messenger wearing the livery of the House of France presented her with a letter. 

King Henri insisted for inviting his sister-in-law at Chambord, which she accepted readily. Her mother had always told her about the beauty and elegance of the castles long the Loire, and she was eager to form her own opinion on them. 

Upon her arrival, Alice found the Court in turmoil, since Queen Catherine had just given birth to her seventh child, a girl named Marguerite. To think she had been once labeled as sterile! After giving three daughters and four sons to the dynasty, she would have deserved some rest, but she was still young enough to conceive, and declared it was her duty to carry on as long as it was possible. Needless to say, the French royal family would certainly grow again within the following two years. 

After ten days of balls and revelries – Alice had left necklaces and an inlaid writing case as gifts for Catherine and Marguerite – the journey southwards resumed. Le cortege would travel to Lyon before heading for Marseille along the Rhône, from where the princess would leave by the sea for Italy. The thought of traveling by boat was still as unpleasant as before, but this way would remain faster and safer than crossing the Alps. 

# # 

_June 1553_

If she had found Amboise exotic, Marseille felt like a massive slap for all her senses. It was so completely different from everything Alice had already known… She had never seen so many different people gathered at the same place. For the first time in her life, she met Arabs and Africans, most of them unloading ships from Tanger and Lebanon, as well as Italians, Greeks and Turks. Much to her dismay, she did not have even a day to explore that city his father had probably known well in his time, and she only understood two or three of the languages spoken there. The galley that would bring her to Italy was already waiting for her, moored apart from the rest. Disappointed, Alice embarked again, in a cabin the size of two cupboards, that she would have to share with a lady-in-waiting and a servant. The journey lasted a week during which the unfortunate galley slaves were often put to task due to the lack of wind. The princess sent all of it inside, trying to contain her nausea, but when she could at last set foot on terra firma, she still took the time to order the captain to give a decent meal to the prisoners who had rowed for her. She left the galley among blessings from the unfortunate prisoners, but could not delay at the harbor, as the ducal guard was waiting to bring her to the palace. 

The trip in coach was not more comfortable than the crossing and Alice gritted his teeth with each jolt that made her jump on her banquette. She endured several days in such a way, consoling herself at every halt in a convent or a magistrate’s mansion. 

After a week of bumps and lurches, the cortege finally reached Modena. The streets were quite narrow and curious bystanders had to perch on the balconies to watch the coaches pass. 

The palace was well cleared from the commoners’ houses, which allowed both to show off its architecture and to give the guards enough space to operate in case of an attack. The gate opening onto the first courtyard was made of oak reinforced with iron bars, and guarded by a dozen men-at-arms. One could never foresee a revolt or an attack by an enemy family. 

As the princess’ coach took a turn to line up before the front steps principal of the palace, several people came to stand on the highest steps, watching the fiancee’s arrival. Alice waited until the driver had unfolded the footboard to risk a peek outside and raise her eyes to her new family. 

Duchess Renée was a short woman with a rather ill-proportioned face and too strong jaw, rectified by a pair of twinkling eyes and impeccable manners. Alice felt a bit ill-at-ease facing her mother-in-law, despite all the good things Queen Anne had told about her. She promptly curtsied before the duchess. The lady bid her to rise, considered her for a moment, before kissing her on both cheeks and greeting her in French. Then the duke loomed before her. Unlike his wife he was tall, broad-shouldered and had a rather severe face. Alice curtsied even lower. 

“Rise, princess,” the duke said in a sonorous voice. “Be welcome.” 

“My lord…” 

“Luigi, come and give your betrothed a kiss.” 

The young man of fifteen who then appeared had inherited his Borgia grand-mother’s blond hair, and had an expression both shy and curious. Alice was not sure her sister had sent an accurate portrait to Ferrara so that the prince could assess his future spouse properly. Anyway, she was quite satisfied with what she saw. He was handsome and quite tall already even though he had not reached his adult stature yet. He bowed to kiss her hand and greeted her in a perfect Latin, not knowing if his fiancee was already fluent in Italian. Alice replied in the same language, and Luigi offered his arm to lead her inside. The two adolescents were walking right behind the couple ducal with all the dignity they could muster, but each of them was casting quick looks at the other as they went on. 

“Welcome home,” Luigi breathed as they crossed the threshold. 

Alice immediately more at ease, and needed it, as her three sisters-in-law were waiting for her in the first antechamber. 

# # 

For a whole week, the young woman began to acclimatize, at every meaning of the word, to her new home. The plants in the vast gardens, the weather, the smells, the food, the fashion… so many things were different from the English Court! She also watched the way the Est family worked. 

The duchess was very close to her eldest daughter and Luigi, though none of them shared her Reformist faith. But they both thought that "everyone minds their own beliefs, and things will be all right." Duke Ercole and his two younger daughters were however far less tolerant. Theological rows were common in the house, and the duke often threatened his wife with episcopal jails. The couple had experienced several crisis when the duchess had hosted some Calvinists in her house to protect them from the dangers of papal investigations. 

Spying on her in-laws was not the princess’ only occupation, however. Alice spend a lot of time with seamstresses getting busy around her and the rolls of fabrics she had brought in her trousseau with her personal jewels, her books, her flute and her archery gear. 

Her wedding dress was made of a bustier in cherry red velvet lined with silver satin, the skirt decorated with a pattern of red leaves on cloth of silver. Tiny seed pearls on a silver net were sewn on the top of the bustier and sleeves. Red was Ferrara’s color, and she had to admit it suited her well. 

# # 

Ten days after her arrival and a catholic baptism for the princess as well as a confirmation and a profession of faith almost in the same breath, the wedding ceremony was held in the chapel of the palace. Along with her new family, it gathered allies and vassals of the House of Este, but not a single compatriot, which dampened Alice’s excitement. Just one ambassador from her elder sister would have relieved her anxiety. But they were all kept away by missions in more important Courts and excepting the ladies-in-waiting who had followed her in Italy, the English representation would be scarce on that day. 

Alice was strapped into her dress of velvet and cloth-of-silver, and covered with her most magnificent jewels. Luigi, for his part, wore a dark red ceremonial rob that gave a touch of color to his pale cheeks. The young man seemed quite intimidated bu the service around him, and no doubt, also by the fact that this day would influence the rest of his life. 

As the betrothed were kneeling before the altar, the priest walked towards them, preceded by an altar boy waving a censer, the fragrant smoke enshrouding the chapel in a thin blueish cloud. Prayers were not so different from the ones Alice used to hear in England, but the ceremonial surrounding them was much more sumptuous. She understood what her father meant when he talked of useless ornaments and a waste of good money. 

Alice caught herself daydreaming and focused on the ongoing ceremony. She had a certain stranding to hold, no matter how usurped. So she kept a calm face, smiling kindly at the assistance, and replied without faltering all the traditional questions asked by the officiant. She felt impatience catching up with her nonetheless, before her husband finally slipped the wedding ring on her finger. A very beautiful ring by the way, made of gold and set with a square ruby. Alice turned to face the guests and reply with a wave to their cheers. 

The newly wed left the chapel with slow, dignified steps to head towards the main yard of the palace, where each was helped onto a horse for a triumphal tour of the city. The mount offered to Alice was a peaceful white palfrey readily responding at the slightest press of the heel. A servant had given her a purse full of gold and silver coins that she would hand out along her progression. It would put the citizens in a good mood, and they would grumble less when they had to pay their next round of taxes. 

And as it happened, the good citizens positioned on the path of the cortege cheered the future duchess with each handful of coins she was throwing them. 

The duke had not gone so far as to have the fountains serve wine, but huge trestle tables had been erected nonetheless on the main plazza so that the inhabitants could receive their share of the feast during the evening. 

The procession lasted for hours and when the cortege cam back to the palace, the sun was already starting to set. At least the ride had not been too tiring. Nonetheless, it was with some relief that Alice sat in the high-backed seat set for her at the table ducal after a new entrance into the palace, the guests slowly filling the hall. The local nobles and emissaries from the various republics and free cities of Italy were showing off precious, embroidered fabrics and gemstones in an endless shimmer under the light of chandeliers loaded with scented candles. 

Musicians and singers were entertaining the honorable guests while the dishes were carried to the table one after the other. Roasted swan with peaches and saffron, huge carps on a layer of fragrant herbs, small birds in a flaky crust, candied fruits, flower syrups and crystal flagons of wine… Alice felt light-headed among this abundance. She put her cup back on the table with a handkerchief on the top to signal she would not take more wine. 

She watched the nobles dance on the marble tiles and listened to the poets reciting their compositions with a certain amusement. Her father had taught her that soon enough, all of it was only a game. Expensive, sometimes splendid, but a game nonetheless 

It was time for the volta when she spotted the duchess gesturing towards the door leading to the second floor of the palace and the bedrooms, while the duke did the same with his son. They cast one last look behind to make sure that no one except the servants followed them, and ran up the stairs. The guests were accomplices, of course, and would come and make a disturbance before their door, but later. 

Servants were standing inside the room hidden behind a screen as the couple recuperated from all those emotions, before coming to undress the newlyweds. The chamber maids unlaced Alice’s dress and bodice, then took off her dainty shoes, while the valets untied Luigi’s doublet and breaches. They retreated with the clothes, but did not completely leave the room. They would stay awake the whole night to make sure the marriage was indeed consummated. Despite their silence and the thick curtains of the canopy, it would be difficult to completely forget their presence. 

Alice lowered her voice into a whisper to ask her husband: 

“Do you know what to do?” 

He nodded while replying just as low: 

“Mother insisted that a chamber maid should… show me.” 

“So everything should be fine. Can we pull the curtains closed?” she worried as they rearranged blankets and pillows. 

“Of course. I think the… noise will be enough.” 

The thought of making a spectacle of themselves did not agree with him, anymore than her. Casting one last look to the corner where the servants were hiding, Luigi slid under the blankets and lifted them so Alice could settle in bed as well. 

In spite of his practical knowledge, he fumbled a bit at the beginning, before growing more assured. Kissing him was not unpleasant, Alice decided, though it tickled a bit. His hands were warm through the fabric of her thin nightshirt, pleasant as well. She let him untie the lace holding the collar of her shirt, then did the same for him. With a wink, Luigi took the garment off, mussing his hair in the process and Alice imitated him, giggling. She found herself just as tousled. 

“Now my lady, let us do our duty, and have some merriment at the same time.” 

One hour later, their duty was done, and they agreed that they had indeed taken much fun in the process.


	2. Heirs

_July 1553, London_

Once her younger sister was wedded and bedded, Elizabeth was not done with family matters. The death of her uncle George, at least, did not lead to any dispute regarding his belongings. William Stafford and his children wanted nothing to do wit the Boleyn inheritance, and James became the third Earl of Wiltshire, swearing an oath of loyalty to his cousin. He was close to eighteen years old, it was time to find him a wife, as well as spouses for his sister Lucy and his brother Edmund. 

Right after his brother had been officially invested, Edmund came to see his queen and cousin, begging her to find him a place in her household to allow him to stay in London, rather than go back to Hever under James’ thumb. And if his gracious cousin could also take Lucy in her service as lady-in-waiting or send her as a ward to some lady among their numerous relatives… Though a bit surprised, Elizabeth accepted, and Edmund became Her Majesty’s squire while Lucy went to the Howard estate to polish her manners. Then Elizabeth decided to understand Edmund’s actions better and questioned him at length. It quickly appeared that James behaved as a domestic tyrant since their father’s death. Too happy to have an heir at last, Uncle George had never truly bothered with disciplining him when necessary, and James had grown up into a spoiled brat. Elizabeth did not rush to send her cousins back home, inventing if need be all sorts of excuses, to which her husband sometimes gave a ring of truth as he took Edmund along in his journeys around the various counties of England. He also had a few suggestions regarding charming young and well-born French ladies who could suit James or Edmund’s tastes. The idea sounded interesting to his wife, still working to reinforce the bonds between the two countries, as long as Spain was not entirely ruined. Her cousins’ children were unlikely to ever sit the throne, but joining the royal family by marriage could only bring advantages and prestige. They would not lack for candidates. 

# # 

_End of October 1553_

After weeks and weeks of feeling nauseous when she woke, the queen had finally called for a midwife to share her suspicions. 

“Your Majesty, I have very good news for you. I can confirm that you are with child.” 

Elizabeth raised her head with a dazzling smile. She caught the silk purse on her bedside and handed it to the midwife, who took her leave with several deep curtsies. After two failed pregnancies, the queen had to carry this one to term at any cost and give birth to a viable heir. Unwanted pretenders were still prowling around her throne, her Scottish cousins to begin with. 

Nonetheless, she waited for several more weeks, enough to feel the future prince (or princess) move inside her, to make the news public, which led to a massive, improvised feast in the streets of the capitol. On the following day, many Londoners went to work with a serious hangover. The palace itself did not fare much better, though the prince consort had made sure his wife’s advisors did not indulge too much. 

All her entourage understood quickly they should better not treat the monarch as a spun glass figurine, nor surround her with too many precautions, even though the two miscarriages she had suffered could only inciter people to worry. The queen kept participating to all the councils, regularly saluted her subjects from her window, and her only concession was to stop travelling by coach on the bumpy road of her kingdom. She had to contend with the various messages coming from the counties for her information. 

# # 

_10th of April 1554_

When Elizabeth, exhausted after eight hours of labour, cast a look to her ladies and midwives, she saw joyous smiles and happy faces. So she had a son? The first prince born in England in more than thirty-five years... She felt a wave of pride. 

“Let me hold him,” she ordered. 

The servant cleaning the baby obeyed in haste and laid her son into her waiting arms. He looked plump, a thin light down covering his head. She signalled her Chancellor to approach. 

“Have the bells ring over all the city. I want all the citizens of London to celebrate the birth of their prince.” 

“Who shall we announce, my lady?” 

“Henry, by the grace of God Prince of Wales and future King of England and Ireland.” 

Had she been a simple commoner, she would probably not have chosen to honour her father and predecessor, but dynastic continuity was important, particularly when your family had conquered the throne in rather chaotic circumstances. 

The little prince’s baptism gathered many ambassadors as well as the finest members of English nobility. Even their Stuart cousin, for now residing in France, had sent a delegation to be represented properly. 

The idea of marrying the young queen of Scotland to the future king of France had seemed, France and England being allies, a good way to maintain a relatively cordial relation between the three countries and avoid skirmishes on the border. Unfortunately, young Marie was the niece of the very powerful and ambitious Guise brothers, and her marriage to the Dauphin François of Valois looked like the prefect opportunity to gain more power at Court. 

It was whispered as well that the Guises, who claimed Charlemagne as their ancestor, had an eye on the throne… But the only ties with the Crown they could prove came from the female line, and would not be taken into account. 

Before the wedding, if it ever happened, the child-queen had been sent to France to be raised there. The milder climate and political atmosphere would certainly feel more pleasant than Scotland, where her regent Marie de Guise was hard-pressed to keep the Lords in line. And indeed, the young girl had somewhat fallen in love with the country she was discovering, with its castles, its gardens, its culture as well. She would spend golden years between the Loire and Paris. 

Elizabeth was glad to see her young cousin so busy and distracted, since through her grandmother Margaret Tudor, she had some rights to the crown of England, and unlike the current monarch, the young queen was Catholic, which would satisfy many dissenters. Elizabeth pushed those unpleasant thoughts away for the moment and welcomed the dignitaries with a smile, her husband by her side, both dressed in cloth-of-gold. 

# # 

Alice’s first child was born a year and a half after her wedding night and the letter she wrote her sister to announce the birth of Isabella de Este, second of her name, came faster than the official post from the ambassador. Truth be told, she had paid her own messenger generously so that he carried her missive to England as fast as possible. 

Elizabeth was delighted by the news and even organized a feast to celebrate the birth of her niece. She was glad her sister lived so happily in Italy and that her marriage was apparently a success. Her own married life, without being truly awful, did not bring much entertainment. Her husband spend more time hunting deer or fox in the country than in London, where his responsibilities were quite limited. This being said, his plan was sound: if he never took part in the council’s decisions, his good subjects would not accuse him of leading the country to its ruin by imposing his views to the queen. 

# # 

_July 1556_

Elizabeth read her mail from France again, frowning. Queen Catherine had given birth to twin daughters, one being stillborn, a month prior. The royal doctors were not particularly optimistic regarding the survival of the other baby, and the queen’s health had remained in jeopardy for weeks before she was considered healed at last. As for courtiers, they did not care much for the new princess, calculating that she would not live long enough to have the tiniest influence. They were sadly right, as little Princess Victoire died only two months after her birth, and was discreetly buried. Queen Catherine recovered, thankfully; Elizabeth would rather keep such a good ally in France, who shared her relative tolerance for her subjects’ private religious practice. Her kingly brother-in-law tended to forget a bit the affairs of State , or to increase the already considerable benefits given to his mistress Diane of Poitiers. 

If the royal families of Europe were growing larger, with more or less success, the same could not be said of the Queen of England’s circle of advisors, who had lost on the previous month its spiritual adivser, Thomas Cranmer. He had had a long, fulfilling and turbulent life, and at least had received the satisfaction of seeing his Reformation taking root in the kingdom. 

On a more pleasant note, the former crony of Emperor Charles Quint, Ambassador Chapuys, had left this world as well, awaiting the Lord’s Judgment, to the satisfaction of many British subjects, who had not forgotten his interferences in their monarch’s private life and the local politics. Some puppets with his effigy were dragged through the streets before being thrown into the Thames, then the whole matter was forgotten. The queen was more interested in exchanges between the captains of the French and English fleets, in order to obtain good quality wood for the ships, training for the crews, and improve cooperation between two countries that had just stopped the hostilities recently. 

# # 

_December 1558_

Pregnant once more and close to begin her confinement, Elizabeth Tudor had to settle for watching her courtiers dance, while herself could not do so, much to her annoyance. She loved showing herself and her skills to an audience, so being forced to remain in an armchair was getting on her nerves, a fact worsened by the heavy weight of the splendid gold and rubies jewels she was wearing, and her dress of velvet brocade trimmed with sable. 

No particular mourning marked the passing of the former Queen of France, Eleanore of Austria. Since her husband’s death, she had led a very quiet life, first in France, where she had been titled Duchess of Touraine, then in Spain with her brother, the former emperor Charles. An asthma attack had caused her death on the road between Spain and Portugal, after a cold and disappointing meeting with the daughter she had borne from her first marriage. No one thought to pay her one last homage. Elizabeth worried more about the queen of Navarre, the energetic Jeanne d’Albret. For sure, she had given birth to a son five years prior, then to a daughter, but a regency for such young children would lead, Elizabeth knew it too well, to troubled times 

# # 

_24th of February, 1559_

The second child of the royal couple was a girl, named Mathilde to honour the Conqueror’s wife. She had a head full of thin red hair, and was declared healthy. Elizabeth considered her with appreciation, already wondering in which allied country she would be married. Her own mother would have certainly rolled her eyes and reminded her that there was a long way between the cradle and the wedding dress, but Anne Boleyn was not there any more to give advice when it was needed, and England needed new allies.


	3. Disasters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay with this one, but it seems that my new job has been eating my braincells at an alarming rate. Might have to find something else soon...

_Autumn 1559_

The last news from France were absolutely calamitous. After the dispute that had opposed France and Spain about the route of the border with Flanders, some skirmishes and a bit of battle before Saint-Quentin, one could have expected life to go back on its merry way, once the prisoners from both sides had been duly ransomed and returned home, and each army back into their barracks, after fights that could be labelled as useless without compromising one’s honour. But King Henri, who had chosen to celebrate the peace treaty with magnificent revelries, had been accidentally injured during a tourney, and had died soon after in spite of Monsieur Ambroise Paré’s care, leaving the realm to his eldest son, a boy of fifteen, shy and heavily influenced by his wife Marie Stuart’s uncles from Lorraine. Princess Isabelle de Valois, promised to the king of Spain pour guarantee a ‘durable’ peace, left France in tears, wearing mourning clothes, and Philip II was kind enough, for once, to give her several months to recover from her grief before making her his wife in fact. In spite of the age gap between them, the English ambassador assured they made a very enamoured couple. 

As for Queen Catherine, now the queen-mother, her grief had been terrible far from witnesses, but in public she only showed calm, firmness and dignity. The only occasion she let her feelings show, it was when the duchess of Valentinois, the insufferable Diane of Poitiers, was forced to leave Court after giving back the Crown jewels she had been wearing in spite of the law and tradition. Only this time the queen allowed herself a satisfied smile. Then she started to undermine the influence the Guise clan held over the Court. Having spent her youth in an Italy constantly shaken by civil wars, the queen-mother knew only too well the damage that partisan struggles could cause, and she decided to weaken successively all those scavengers prowling around the throne, by every mean available – _per fas et nefas_. That the leaders of those opposed parties had once been her friends and confidants would never be seen as an obstacle. 

And on top of everything else, Duke Ercole de Este had died as well, of old age and a heart disease. This put a very young couple on the stage in his stead, but luckily, Luigi and Alice were much loved by their subjects and well advised by the dowager duchess Renée, which at least took one heavy weight from the queen of England’s shoulders. 

# # 

_January 1561_

King of France seemed to have become a curse. Less than two years wearing the crown, and young François II had just left this world, taken by an ear infection that had reached the brain, in spite of the treatments dispensed by the many doctors called to Court. And even worse, he had died without any direct heir, leaving the throne to his younger brother Charles, still a minor, which meant a regency, that Queen-mother Catherine grabbed with both hands. 

The fist thing the regent did, right after the funeral, was to show, politely but firmly, the door to the widowed Mary Stuart. The young woman had not managed to bear the king a child, and her presence did not serve the interests of her uncles, thus they let her go back to Scotland without a word to try and make her stay. As a ‘consolation/departure set’, she was packing the magnificent jewels offered by the king of France as wedding gifts, a splendid pearls set chief among them. 

Catherine watched her go without any regret and made no effort to keep a correspondence. She remembered all too well all the occasions when her daughter-in-law, so proud of her royal blood, had called her a « fat Florentine banker » - counting Saint Louis among her ancestors through her mother, nonetheless… But the banker was the Head of State, and she intended to prove it now that she had gotten some power back. She had already sent several conspirators to hang or be beheaded for trying to kidnap the young monarch during the previous summer, so she would not hesitate to do it again for the good of the realm. 

# # 

_November 1561_

Alice broke the seal on the letter and pored over it, feeling all trace of warmth leave her in a heartbeat. 

Elizabeth informed her of the death of Lady Mary Tudor, former regent of Bavaria. 

She had not been very close to her ‘half-sister’ while she had lived in England, particularly because of the large age gap between them, but the voluminous correspondence exchanged between London and Munich had nonetheless created a solid bond between the two princesses. 

Elizabeth would certainly be much more affected, however. Duke Mathias, the princess’ eldest son, had set her some jewels that Mary wished to be given to the queen of England as well as all the numerous letters the princesses had exchanged over the years; as for Alice, it was a part of the duchess of Bavaria’s considerable library that she was offered by her ‘nephew’. She did not accept it without some unease, but had to looked pleased when the crates of beautifully printed and illustrated publications were delivered in the main courtyard of the place, much to the delight of her extremely cultured in-laws. 

# # 

And then the Reaper came knocking to Whitehall gates… 

For a while already, the prince consort had renounced his usual activities. He had shortened his autumn hunts, much to the annoyance, if not anger, of some courtiers used to benefiting from his generosity, to travel back to the capitol, leaving mists and cold fogs to cover the moors where he would ride for so long, complaining of a severe pain in his back and a constant irritation in his throat. 

The later disappeared after gallons of decoctions of plants and honey, but the pain did not stop and made the prince quite morose and not eager for witty conversation. He made himself more and more scarce at Court during winter, spending most of his time in the palace’s vast library or trying to write some music to entertain his children. 

The end of January brought no improvement to his health, far from it. 

The queen summoned a whole college of doctors to determine the seriousness of his affliction. 

"My lady," the royal doctor said darkly, "the prince is dying. Fever will not leave him and he does not stop coughing. I am afraid the English weather did not suit him at all." 

Elizabeth signalled she had heard and gave him leave. Just like three of his sisters and his eldest brother, Charles of Valois succumbed to a lung disease. The queen wondered worriedly if he might have passed his predisposition to the two royal children. Perhaps more through habit than real sentiment, she prayed first for an unlikely recovery, then, when the news brought by the doctors worsened, for the salvation of his soul. 

After five days in death throes, Charles died surrounded by doctors who were losing their Latin trying to save him, without his queen nor his children by his side, for fear of contagion. 

It was Elizabeth’s turn to wear the black dresses of widows. Though Duke Charles had been a pleasant companion, she did not mourn his loss too much. She simply did not have enough time for it. She prayed on his grave after the burial, scrupulously respected the mourning period, but evidence for her sorrow stopped there. She had too much work to waste time in prayers that, anyway, would not influence the divine judgment much, as fas as she knew. Henry and Mathilde seemed more affected by their father’s death. Truth be told, as the duties of the Crown did not keep him too busy, he had spent a lot of time with them, following their education closely and sharing their games, a habit brought from the Valois’ Court, where Kings Louis and François, then Queen Catherine, had acted the same way. 

To find some kind of palliative to the solitude that caged her, the queen turned to writing again. She was of course surrounded by a real beehive of servants and councilors, but the obstacle fromed by her rank prevented her from forming true friendships with them. Her own mother had never taken this interdiction into account, but though no one had ever suspected anything of her tender ‘meetings’ with her husband’s secretary, Elizabeth refused to take the same risk. The Noli me Tangere that protected the royal person was something she had learned almost on her wet nurse’s lap. Thus she still corresponded regularly with her homonym Lady Cromwell, et thus learned the death of the very discreet Jane Seymour-Darcy, due to a bad cold gone worse. The woman who had almost become queen of England had settled nicely in her provincial life, in a quiet place far from the dangerous intrigues of the Court in London. Apparently, her marriage had only known happy days and her five surviving children sang her praises to whomever wished to hear them. 

Then the correspondence with Elizabeth Cromwell stopped as well, the relentless epistolarian dying just six months after her elder sister.


	4. Insufferable events

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A new job does not favour inspiration...

Sometimes Elizabeth would have preferred that one of her brothers had survived, reached adulthood, and the crown had never been put on her head. Some days, she would have liked to unload that burden on somebody else. It was not enough that she ruled her kingdom and kept relations at least in appearance cordial with her neighbours. Now she also had to manage quarrels between persons! And not only among English nobility, alas. It spread to continental Europe even, particularly among her relatives and allies.

For instance, to say that the queen of Navarre and the dowager duchess of Ferrara – as well as the duchess regnant, by the way – did not get along was a sweet euphemism. Jeanne d’Albret was a true fanatic, while Renée belonged, like Catherine de Medicis, to the moderate party. Alice shared her mother-in-law’s opinions on that topic and did her best to spread them, at least among the nobles and wealthy merchants. Calvin himself wrote Elizabeth to ask her to remind her sister of her duty to the cause but the queen replied evenly that Alice was a duchess in Italy, free from vassalage to the Crown of England, and thus she could act as she saw fit. Alice’s sister-in-law, even though she was a staunch Catholic, was quite amused when Alice told her of that exchange of letters. In spite of the religious tensions, the true pleasure they all took in holding power and using it often pushed them closer. 

# # 

When the political and religious leaders of Europe did not hire her as their mediator, the queen was still a busy woman. She held two councils a week, made at least three trips in her counties every year, one of them to Pembroke, now a possession of Cousin Edmund, visited the charities in the capitol, watched over the manoeuvres on the coasts… In spite of the enormity of her tasks, she still found some time to check on Henry and Mathilde’s studies, as both children were overloaded with knowledge – though not in the same fields – by their tutors. 

It was sad to say, but Elizabeth had not take into account her mother’s lessons regarding education. Like many of her contemporaries, she considered that devoting time to young children simply for the pleasure of their company was a waste of time, and even more when you were a member of the royal family. Being moved by the princes’ first steps was in conflict with her dignity, and getting attached too much to children who would leave you sooner or later, counter-productive. This way of dealing with children would take Alice aback, when her sister consented to share some elements of her family life in the letters she sent to Italy. The young duchess of Ferrara raised her own children as herself had been, surrounding them with affection, spending time with them and inciting her husband to do the same. Unlike Elizabeth, Alice had been lucky enough to be wanted and doted upon by both her parents. 

This being said, in spite of her discreet disapproval, she would not cut the ties with her elder. She led a busy life in Italy, and reported in her letters she barely had one hour a day for herself. Between the education of her now three children, the management of the possessions she had acquired in the duchy, keeping an eye on her placements in Venice and the duties of her charge, she would not have much free time indeed. But she still found some to write her sister and tell her about the details of her life at Court in Modena. 

# # 

In 1565, the prince of Wales was officially given a seat in his mother’s council, so that he could participate in the decision-making, and also understand the mechanisms behind it. 

Plans were already made to marry the boy to one of his French cousins or to a German princess. The little prince was not participating to those particular discussion; he was far too young to know all the implications of such promises, but he would learn, like everything regarding his office. 

Though she was barely six, little Mathilde considered it was unfair that her brother was chosen as heir to the throne just because he was born first, and a boy. She estimated she was just as gifted, if not more, to wear the crown. Her mother and grandmother had ruled the country, so why not her? 

This sentiment ate her up, and ended causing her to hate that brother who had had the misfortune to be born before her. She had quickly managed to never show that ressentiment in public, but she learned to dissimulate her feelings extremely efficiently, until she sometimes gave the impression of being a statue more than a human child. 

But at her age, it was difficult to control herself entirely, and her jealousy sometimes exploded in private. The disputes between the two royal children was growing more and more frequent. Henry often believed himself allowed to do everything he wished thanks to his status as the eldest child, and his sister delighted in proving him wring at every turn. Their tutors did not know what to do with them any more, and the queen’s wrath would only keep them quiet for a few days, no more. 

If her heirs quarrelled like fishwives, luckily her ministers were acting much more obedient to the queen’s orders. The duo made by Elizabeth and her councillor Francis Walsingham, for instance, looked a lot like their predecessors’, Anne Boleyn and Thomas Cromwell, with the difference that there was nothing more between them than a solid trust and friendship. Both were – or had been, in the queen’s case – strictly faithful to their spouse. The Walsinghams were even an example at Court and in London of a successful marriage, and everybody described the minister as an excellent father for his only surviving daughter. Anyway, she could only congratulate herself for following Cromwell’s recommendations and taken his former protégé in her service. The intelligence service he had built along the years by mixing with merchants and travellers was worth a gold mine all by itself. Its main task consisted for now in keeping an eye on Spain, and on the Scottish neighbour, whose politics were becoming more and more chaotic. 

# # 

Since her return from France, Queen Mary had taken residence in the Holyrood castle, but had not visited her country much, nor frequented other Scots than her councillors and the relatively narrow circle of her Court. At least she followed advice provided by her entourage et had promptly started looking for another husband, preferably protestant to please her subjects, since the Crown needed heirs and the Stuarts were only represented by the young queen… No one wished to see the prophecy that the dynasty had started with a girl and would end with a girl come true. 

But… on the 29th of July 1565, Mary had finally married her cousin Lord Darnley, who was Catholic like her, which enraged the Protestant faction in Court, starting with the queen’s bastard half-brother, who raised the flag of revolt. He was defeated, but it was not enough to quench the fire, quite the opposite. 

On the beginning of 1566, it was learned in London that the queen of Scotland was pregnant. Elizabeth fit la grimace. According to Walsingham’s spies, Mary Stuart must have had duty in her mind every minute of her life, for her marriage was anything but a success, her husband demanding more and more power and regularly threatening her. The announcement of her pregnancy brought some rejoicing but it was soon darkened by a revolting affair. 

Jealous of the friendship, a priori innocent according to Walsingham, that Mary had developed with her secretary David Rizzio, Darnley had the man murdered before her eyes, hoping to trigger a miscarriage that would kill her and leave him as king. In vain. Mary remained with child and seemed well on her way to carry her pregnancy to term. Elizabeth prayed fervently so that the child would be a girl, whom she could marry to her heir, while wishing, for the stability of relations between Scotland and England, that Mary Stuart soon became a widow. Or that she died in childbirth with her offspring and that the exasperated nobles got rid of Darnley, which would solve several problems in one go. 

Heaven chose not to listen to the queen of England, for once. 

On the 19th June, 1566, Mary Stuart gave birth to a healthy son, who was immediately named James to honour a well-established dynastic tradition. According to the English spies, she had also found a new favourite, the earl of Bothwell, a man certainly more dangerous than the Italian secretary, and just as ambitious. A risky mixture, as Darnley experienced it soon, the earl bringing him out of the capitol on the queen’s orders so he could ‘rest his nerves’ countryside – in a golden cage, in fact. 

# # 

_December 1566, Whitehall_

Sitting before a crackling fire, Elizabeth stared at the dancing flames without truly seeing them. How was it possible? Had she committed a sin to be punished this way? The future had seemed so radiant so far… and this year, even as an heir was born to her cousin Mary Stuart, she had lost her son. The boy loved hunting so much that she had not been able to refuse him that hunt, even though the weather was less than suitable. Henry’s horse had lamed while crossing a brook and its rider had fallen in the icy water... His servants had done their best to dry and warm their prince, but by the time he was brought back to Hampton, he had already been feverish and on the following day was already coughing unstoppably. The royal doctors had rushed to his side, but it had been in vain. 

Two weeks later, the Crown Prince’s funerals were particularly majestic, but surrounded by a protocol that looked almost Spanish in its macabre splendour. The stain-glass windows of the cathedral were draped in black cloth, and gloomy symbols such as skulls and tears embroidered in silver thread. 

Despite all the pomp, the boy was buried in Westminster in a lateral chapel under a rather modest effigy for the Crown Prince. 

Mathilde locked herself in her room after the ceremony, not to cry as her ladies assumed but to ask God his forgiveness for the thoughts that had crossed her mind during her brother’s funerals. Henry’s death saddened her, of course, in spite of all her disputes, but this grief vanished before one thought: she would become Queen of England. Like her mother before her, she would be a regnant monarch. Confusedly, she felt it was a bad thing, but her desire for power was so strong… 

# # 

To respect at least the appearance of decency, Mary Stuart sent her cousin her condolences, but in private she praised the Lord in glee. The death of the English heir was the proof of divine disfavour, and that Elizabeth’s cause was wrong. She was already seeing herself joining both kingdoms under her sceptre. Her councillors had to remind her that her ‘colleague’ still had a healthy daughter, and other cousins who, according to King Henry VIII’s will, came before the Stuarts in the succession line. 

She thought she had one more occasion to rejoice when her cumbersome husband died in his golden prison, barely two months after his young Tudor cousin. Unfortunately, the strangulation marks on his throat had been a little bit too obvious, and fingers began to point towards the earl of Bothwell, who was seen by many at Court and in the country as the queen’s lover. 

# # 

_March 1567_

Mathilde felt light-headed during the reading of the decree that officially made her Princess of Wales. Nonetheless, she did her best not to smile beatifically and keep a calm, expressionless face. He future subjects had to see her as a dignified and calm person, and courtiers should respect her. Hopping in delight and running around in the corridors would not achieve that. 

Her introduction as princess of Wales and future queen did not generate any stir in the streets. English people were more or less used to a female ruler now, and saw their third queen with a kind eye. 

It did not only bring benefits for the little princess, however. 

In the blink of an eye, Mathilde’s scheduled was much more crowded than before. Mornings were dedicated to her brother’s former tutors, the afternoons to arts. Thus she started learning European geography, mathematics and Spanish, on top of Latin, history and French that she was already taught. Even Sundays did not bring her rest, since after mass she would go for a long stroll on horseback with her ladies. Elizabeth acted without mercy for her daughter, so different from Anne Boleyn in her time. And she planned to marry the girl properly. 

The French option was not possible for Mathilde any more. Catherine’s sons were either too young, already promised or dead. No catholic prince would accept to marry her without at least trying to make her recant her faith. She would probably have to turn towards a Lutheran German prince. Queen Elizabeth was not considering, for now, the young Scottish cousin. 

# # 

_June 1567_

Elizabeth had just regained a taste for jokes and laughter as she learned of the pétrin in which Mary Stuart had stepped. Barely two months after her husband’s death, she had married again with the earl of Bothwell, much to the Court and her subjects’ horror. A woman marrying her previous husband’s murderer? At best it was in bad taste and at worst, complicity. 

A new conspiracy of nobles managed to have the queen arrested and locked up in a quite unpleasant castle on an island in the middle of a loch, while Bothwell left the country in haste, never to set foot there again. 

“This is what I call a well-solved problem,” the queen of England said with satisfaction when she read her agents’ reports. “She can stay in her dungeon, abdicate, and we will make sure that her offspring is raised with proper ideas.”


	5. Diplomacy or not diplomacy

The second trimester of 1568 saw a new surge of activity on both sides of the Channel, Elizabeth being once again cast in the role of an arbitrator.

The first case she had to treat was her cousin Mary Stuart. The lady had once again made a monumental error, one from which she would probably never recover. At mid-May, she had managed to escape from the isolated castle where the Scottish nobles detained her ‘for her own good’, and instead of gathering her faithful followers and marching on the capitol, had run south and crossed the English border. Everybody was stunned speechless, from the patrol who had found her and her retinue to the queen and her councillors. What kind of reasoning had Mary Stuart followed so she could imagine to find help in England after yet another defeat against her former subjects, when she had hankered after its throne for years? Elizabeth did not hesitate, grabbed the opportunity with both hands, and sent her cousin to a new well-guarded jail in the Bolton castle, under the watch of George Talbot, a good servant of the crown if there ever was, just like his father and grandfather. She would remain there as long as it pleased Her Majesty, and would leave only, preferably, for her funerals. Within a few years, no more, as her captivity was expensive: the State had to pay the servants working for the prisoner, and feed everyone as well. 

The second event was of a less aberrant nature, though just as touchy. It was the reception of King Charles IX’s ambassadors, with the prospect of drawing the borders for France and England’s respective possessions on the northern part of America. The attempts from those two countries remained for the time being rather shy compared with Spain and Portugal’s flourishing colonies, but they agreed to reckon it was high time to change this timorous policy and to look at a wider picture… without bothering each other. So far, the first English colons remained in small communities along the Atlantic coast of the new continent, while the French ventured further north, along a river discovered by Jacques Cartier under the reign of King François, and named Saint-Laurent. The French protestants already saw it as a new promised land, after their first attempts further south had been destroyed by the brutal intervention of Spanish soldiers. 

# # 

_September 1568, London_

Protocol not allowing him to leave his country, King Charles had sent two of his best officers to negotiate with his aunt. Thus Elizabeth met with Marshal de Tavannes and Admiral de Coligny. When they were in her presence for the first time, both men seemed ill-at-ease, and she knew the reason very well. Years prior, when they were still boys, the two negotiators and the late Duke François de Guise had been the best friends in the world, an inseparable trio causing all sort of mischief (the most infamous being running together in the roofs of the houses they inhabited during a journey in Italy), and very close to Queen Catherine. Then politics had been added in the mix, along with religion. Guise and Coligny were both great lords who greatly disliked having their possessions and power confiscated by the monarchy. They should have remained allies, but one had stuck to Catholicism, while the other had chosen militant Protestantism. Tavannes, of a less prestigious lineage, did not suffer from that kind of issues. He was Catholic and served the king and the queen-mother, whom he venerated almost like a goddess since she had arrived in France – he had even offered to cut Diane de Poitiers’ nose once, to punish her for her disrespect for the queen. 

Those quarrels had remained at home, since they were both perfectly neutral when facing Elizabeth. On foreign land, they represented France as a whole; the tussles would wait until they had gotten back home. 

The queen did not fail to explain that point to her daughter: a monarch had to rule all his subjects, and not only the faction matching his or her inclination, whether by origins or religion. Matilda took notes. She was also allowed to watch the discussions from an adjacent room, behind a screen so that no one would notice she was scribbling, as fast as she could, summaries of the conversations she heard, and that she had to explain to her mother and a member of the council as if they were completely ignorant of them. It was obviously not an easy exercise, but she managed to provided results that were deemed sufficient. 

# # 

The partition of the territories in the New World took far less time than Elizabeth had feared. The French had already been settled for thirty years on the banks of the Saint-Laurent and did not ask more than being able to carry on with its exploration in peace. As for the English, they would receive all the eastern coast of the continent (and all the lands they might discover further west), down to about a hundred miles north of Florida, a limit they could not cross under penalty of being attacked by the Spaniards, something the French and a few Dutch had already learned to their sorrow. By compensation, as the lands granted to the English by that treaty were much more extended than the future French possessions, King Charles would receive Calais. It would not change much to the situation of the city, since its English population had drastically decreased during the last few decades, being replaced by a mix of Flemish and French. But the French continental territory was thus completed. 

Furthermore, each nation was allowed to open a few trading posts in the other’s colonies to make exchanges between populations easier. On paper, it was pleasant enough. It still needed a living and acting monarch in France to apply the treaty. 

Admiral de Coligny seriously considered pushing the king towards a forced abdication and replacing the French monarchy by a Holland-style republic, but ruled according to Calvin’s ideas. Given what Elizabeth knew about the Republic of Geneva, she tried to inciter the overactive Reformist to mode moderation, but the fervour of his zeal did not care much for her recommendations. He saw no problem with lightening a few stakes for the protesters or restarting a civil war. 

Elizabeth pinched her lips and lectured him when the admiral exposed those projects once again. 

“The king of France is my nephew and unlike Lady Stuart, does not plot against me to steal my throne. I will not take arms against the family of my late husband, if only by respect for his memory. And as well because Spain is a much more dangerous threat for England. Furthermore, I do not see the king of France intruding in our local religious matters… no more than I would claim to explain him how to rule or deal with a rebellion.” 

Given his disgruntled expression, he had understood the message perfectly: she would not support his rebellion. Not having any more reasons to carry on with the audience, he bowed stiffly and took his leave with the bare minimum of respect for protocol. 

# # 

The final version of the treaty was signed three days later before the whole council, the Frenchmen picking their quill in the name of their king, who would sign another copy once they were back in Paris. 

After many congratulation and cheers from the courtiers called as witnesses, both emissaries bowed before the monarch. Tavannes remained behind for a short while. 

“I can protect him from the Guises, it is still in my abilities,” the man said sadly. “What pains me, my lady, is that I cannot protect him from himself.” 

Tavannes sighed loudly then once again curtsied to the queen and left, leaving Elizabeth with a strange melancholy. 

# # 

The retrocession of Calais went relatively unnoticed among the effervescence caused by the future acquisition future of the New World. All imagined endless wonders, and the most destitute already pictured themselves as wealthy riches colons on lands yet unknown. Experienced merchants also foresaw pleasant prospects for wealth increase… by using those unfortunates for cheap labour. This new accord also had the advantage of making communications between the two countries even easier; missives were opened or encoded far less often. Through her ambassador’s letters or for the princes themselves, Elizabeth got to know her French nieces and nephews better. Her favourites were the youngest: Édouard, Claude and Marguerite. The young man was a smart mind who observed the world or courtiers with much finesse, Claude had a peaceful disposition, kind and shy, accentuated by her handicaps, and Marguerite showed an intelligence far above her age. The young girl loved doodling on all the papers she could find and sent her aunt small humorous drawings caricaturing life at Court in the Louvre and the castles along the Loire. 

Her smile must have vanished quickly enough at the end of the year, when the last messages from Spain reached the French Court. 

Elizabeth received with a sharp pain the news of her niece Isabelle of Valois’ death in childbirth, leaving behind two young daughters and a Philip II much saddened by the loss of his wife. If she hated the monarch, she did sympathize with the mourning husband, and send him her condolences through the Spanish ambassador, who was equally surprised and pleased by the gesture. 

It would not prevent them from warring against each other soon, directly or through their allies, but sometimes they allowed themselves to act as human beings. Far too rarely, according to their subjects.


	6. Mediterranean business and personal affairs

_Spring 1571_

The duchy of Modena was seeing the brightest side of life thanks to the multiple contracts signed during the marriage ceremonies of Princess Alice with Luigi de Este, which guaranteed to its merchants an exclusivity on English products in Northern Italy, and that had been recently upgraded to include resources exported from the New World, at a price far more attractive than those used by the Spaniards. 

It also allowed the duke to increase his income through taxes, and that money gave wings to his policy of territorial addition, to the great anger of the Pope, who feared the duke would gain on the Papal States so close to his own. 

“The Holy Father already threatens to excommunicate me if I persist in my trial against Bologna – let us forget Mantua and Massa for the moment – for the lands separating our territories,” he thus told his wife, “since the domain in question borders his own. Is he afraid that I would become Emperor Charles and attack his city?” 

“Or that I will convert you to the Reformation?” Duchess Alice joked. 

That caused him to grow serious again. 

“Do not jest on such matters. No one would in good faith question your conversion to Catholicism, but good faith is not a weapon in political duels. All arguments are fair to use, so…” 

“I understand. I will go pray more often, and in public.” 

A constraint that the duchess could have done without, busy as she was. She had just finalised the acquisition of a tiny island in the Adriatic sea, a priori without any major strategic value in spite of the existence of a small water spring on it, but quite useful for ships to make a stopover without having to anchor in Venice (and its taxes on all goods shipped by foreign traders). 

“I will find a compensation worthy of the sacrifice, my dear,” her husband promised with a perfectly explicit wink. 

Alice sometimes thought that she must be the most spoiled wife in all the peninsula. 

# # 

_October 1571_

England and France alike learned, aghast, of the crushing defeat, not to say the annihilation, of the Turkish fleet by the Habsburg allied to Venice. The battle of Lepanto took away one member of the anti-imperial alliance, while the increasing troubles in France heralded nothing good. Catholics and Reformists fought frequently, to the point that the relative good will showed by King Francis was completely forgotten by his heir Charles the Ninth. Politics mixed with religion, while old noble families still tried to get back the power and privileges the monarchy had progressively taken from them, et dynastic quarrels began to brew between the king and his Bourbon cousins – Charles had not sired a legitimate child yet, even though his maîtresse en titre had given him a healthy son, and his two younger brothers were not married. 

This being said, that victory did not come without a few thorns for the Spanish side. 

“Don Juan of Austria covered himself with glory in all continental Christendom with that battle; this will not fail to worsen tensions with his half-brother. King Philip does not go on the battlefield, and he has never really liked Don Juan, the Chancellor of the Exchequer Sir Walter Mildmay pointed out, causing his colleague Nicholas Bacon to nod. 

“I doubt anyone would try and put on the throne a bastard who remains unmarried and childless while the king has three heirs,” Ralf Sadler remarked. He had gotten older, like all of them, but still something remained of his days as a lanky lad. His expression, however, was now extremely serious. 

“This being said, he might be tempted to send his half-brother as far from Spain as possible, on a border where the Turks are more threatening, like the Balkans…” 

It would be an effective way to get rid of a potential rival indeed, perhaps even definitely, since the Turks did not systematically ransom their high-ranking prisoners. 

Those considerations aside, the defeat of the Ottoman fleet meant that soldiers could be transferred from the Mediterranean to the Atlantic, and funds attributed to a war against France or England. 

# # 

Outside of her duties, the queen had to admit that she was getting bored. Apart from sending spies and saboteurs in all Spanish harbours, she could not do much to counter Philip’s plans, at least for now. She could only hope that the discreet progress made by her sister and her brother-in-law in the Mediterranean would still remain unnoticed for a few years, and that their position in Italy would have been strengthened before Spain decided to attack. Thus the queen looked for some distraction in her Court. 

If her marriage had mostly been a solid friendship and a common passion for dance and music, the bedroom had not been to look down on either. Charles of Angoulême had not been a man to leave a woman unsatisfied, and the queen missed that now. She was looking for someone reliable and discreet that could provide her with some relaxation when needed. 

So she found herself making a list, with ‘pro’ and ‘cons’ columns to sort among the various possibilities offered to her choice. 

She could not consider Sadler. She knew him since her childhood and treated him more or less like a distant cousin. So she barred his name with a rather annoyed stroke of her quill, as well as several others known for being ‘arrivistes’ or coming with a greedy kin. To be sure, she would find an orphaned only son to reduce potential issues to the strict minimum! 

Then she looked over the rest of her list. 

Among her courtiers, one Robert Dudley was indeed pleasant to the eye, but further intelligence told her that he was also married to a Lady Amy Robsart, who had born him two daughters. Elizabeth hesitated to make her interest more obvious, knowing that. Her mother had been once insulted and threatened for destroying the king’s marriage with Princess Katherine, so she did not wish to have it said that the Boleyn women were housewreckers from mother to daughter. Furthermore, Dudley, as a noble, might have ambitions and form his own clan in Court, which would lead to rumours that the queen was not impartial. 

If Elizabeth truly wished for a companion to entertain her, she should better choose him among the numerous commoners who lived and worked at Court; if that man owed her everything and got his position for her only, he would be less likely to betray her afterwards. 

Discretion was a must. No way she should suffer, as Queen-mother Catherine would say, from an “inflated belly” and give birth to a bastard, no matter how royal. She had already enough with the risks of Mary Stuart’s continued existence without adding to the issue, and the example of her dear father would remind her of the danger of complicating the succession line. Her growing age made that risk less pressing, but not quite inexistent, as Her Majesty’s chambermaids could see every month. 

“And unlike all those ladies in my father’s time, she sighed, you cannot say that the gentlemen are truly in a hurry to court me… I should have it said that a disappointment in bed does not mean they will lose their head… or the rest! Oh, what a shame…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since I won't post before a while, I wish all my readers a merry Christmas if they celebrate it, otherwise happy holidays, and a great new year 2020 full of good things :)


	7. Slaughter

_June 1572_

What should have been a spectacular wedding and an opportunity to rejoice had just been plunged into mourning. As she travelled to the French capitol for her son’s wedding with Princess Marguerite, the tenacious – and quite fanatical – queen of Navarre had left this world, and rumours of poisoning were already circulating. Elizabeth did not believe that. Jeanne of Navarre had been ill for a long time, coughing and spitting blood for years. Consumption had turned her into a skeleton draped in black dresses. The long journey to Paris had finished her off but Catherine de Medicis’ Florentine coterie had nothing to do with it. The Protestant faction of course refused to accept that explanation for a natural death and claimed for everyone to hear that the royal family and the Guises had caused that very timely end, among other things to cancel the ceremony and allow a member of the Guise family to marry the princess – though her alleged lover, Henri of Guise, was already married to a lady from the House of Bourbon. 

The wedding between Henri of Navarre and Marguerite of Valois would take place nonetheless. The moderates on both sides claimed that it would be the only way to have peace between the factions at war in France. 

“Doubtful,” Sadler declared while reading their agents’ reports. “Coligny pushes for war against Spain in the northern provinces, and he will not stop petitioning the king before he gets what he wants.” 

Elizabeth ground her teeth. 

“Yet he should realize that the time when Charles called him ‘Father’ is gone. The amount of benevolence he got from the king and the queen-mother has been exhausted a long time ago, she groused. He plays a far too dangerous game and if he falls, he will take many with him. I doubt Navarre and Condé risk much, they are the king’s own cousins, but the lesser nobles that surround Coligny will face a serious… disappointment.” 

“It is likely, my lady. We tried to make him see reason, but so far in vain.” 

She shrugged. 

“If the goat does not want to leave the stable… On another topic, do we have news from the two ships that departed Plymouth last month?” 

“The last message we received told us that they had passed the Azores and turned to the west towards the Americas, my lady. They will not reach Panama before July, no doubt.” 

“Good… Let us hope that this captain Drake will be lucky and will come back with full holds.” 

# # 

_Beginning of August 1572_

When Francis Walsingham entered her office with a wide grin and rubbing his hands together, Elizabeth knew the news he brought would be delightful. 

“The Spaniards are more furious than a bunch of wasps when someone has just kicked their nest,” he said as a preamble. 

“Let me see, my friend.” 

Walsingham, that she had affectionately nicknamed « my Moor », had been taken off her list of potential entertainers as well. Still married, still faithful, and the queen did not like mixing work and pleasure. 

“Captain Drake attacked Panama successfully and took a portion of the treasure stored in the city. Unfortunately he was injured and his men elected to retreat, not forgetting to bring their loot with them nonetheless. His intent is to remain in the area and attack all the ships that come within reach. I doubt we will get more communications from him before he comes back to England, and our agents as well as the French must make themselves scarce.” 

“I see… It is a good thing nonetheless. It will keep the Spaniards on alert on the other side of the Atlantic and will catch their attention from what happens here. Speaking of which, do they still manage to hire spies in our harbours?” 

“Not as much as they would like, my lady. Your tolerance towards the Catholics seem to bear the fruits we expected.” 

The queen smiled with satisfaction. One should know how to learn from their neighbours and predecessors, including (more than anything else, in fact) their errors. Unlike her father, she would never force anyone to pray as she did, as long as her subjects respected the laws of the realm and the authority of their monarch. 

# # 

_30th of August, 1572_

Elizabeth carefully read again the report from her ambassador in France, sent in all haste through special courier. Catherine de Medicis had, it seemed, killed two birds with one stone, using her daughter’s wedding to have both Coligny and the duke of Mayenne assassinated. 

The head of the French Reformists had been separated from its body, and the Catholic faction had lost one of its brains. Well done, the queen of England had to admit. Truly well done. If one added to that the death of Queen Jeanne of Navarre et the imprisonment of the new king of this little Pyrenean state, as well as his cousin Condé in the Louvre, under Charles’ watchful eye, not so many people remained to oppose the French monarch. 

But the price to pay had been high, too high. Even the ever faithful and devoted Marshall Tavannes was scandalized by the scenes he had witnessed in the streets of the capitol. The Reformer population in the city and a high number of Catholics who bothered their neighbours for one reason or another had been slaughtered by soldiers and rioters helped by the small folk of Paris. « Blood was flowing on the cobblestones in such wide brooks that you could have believed it had been raining red on the city » Tavannes wrote with indignation, though he had seen much and more on the battlefield. Even the soft and discreet queen of France, Elisabeth of Austria, then more than seven months pregnant, prayed that her husband would not have to repent, in this world or the other, from the decision he had taken. As for Marguerite, now queen of Navarre, after having very nearly been killed by mercenaries in the corridors of the Louvre, she had locked herself up in her chambers and refused to speak to any member of her family; she was just as unlikely to meet with her husband since they were kept separated. The queen-mother had even suggested to have the marriage annulled, but her daughter had refused with words that would have made a sergeant blush. 

Protestants hunting had begun to spread to the rest of the kingdom, from Nantes to Bordeaux, even if, thankfully, some governors had too much honour to transmit the king’s orders. « I have twenty thousand soldiers, and not a single executioner », thus replied the Duke of Joyeuse, though a staunch Catholic, and his good city of Montpellier remained free of persecutions. 

The English harbours, small surprise here, saw a consequent influx of refugees, as well as the United Provinces. Several thousands of people had elected to leave France, at least temporarily, to allow the Crown to forget about them. For the bourgeois and traders, England was often just a stopoff on the way to Quebec, but the members of the nobility who had avoided jail or the scaffold still intended to remain in Europe and dethrone the king of France. Those ones were not welcome in London. Religious community or not, giving shelter to schemers who wished to get rid of a monarchy never yielded good results. Elizabeth needed her nephew’s fleet and army more than a bunch of penniless nobles, who she sent to her Dutch associate William of Orange, also called the Taciturn. He won some military advisers that way, and even a new wife, Coligny’s daughter Louise, whose first husband had been killed in Paris. 

Two months later, when the young queen of France easily gave birth to a daughter, Elizabeth was offered to become her godmother. She accepted readily enough, gestures of good will between France and England being more important than ever, particularly when Spain was rearming ships fit for sailing on the Atlantic. 

# # 

_June 1573_

After many troubles and disappointments, and a year spent in the Caribbean, Captain Drake had managed to reach Plymouth, with a fabulous treasure of gold and silver coins, but without part of his crew nor his French associate Le Testu, whom the Spaniards had captured and executed. Agents of the Treasury almost fell to their knees to praise the Lord for this unexpected godsend, which would provide for ships and pays for the future soldiers and sailors of the Crown. 

Philip II, however, had sent a special courier to Elizabeth to demand the head of the ‘pirate’ captain, and had promised a massive bounty to whoever would bring him the ‘ruffian’. Summoning Walshingham, the queen gave him a few orders regarding her new privateer. 

“Make sure he acts discreetly, or that he goes away to… take some rest, let us say, in a rather remote place.” 

“The Irish Sea does not see many Spanish ships, but it never lacks for small piracy and smuggling to eliminate,” the councillor pointed out. 

“Well, that should keep our man busy until Philip’s anger vanishes, or latches onto another topic. Thank Captain Drake for me, and assure him that I will not fail to require his services again, should the need arise.” 

And, she thought, she would have to meet this Drake in person, one of these days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is true that Marguerite de Valois was almost killed in the Louvre by mercenaries hunting the few Protestants living in the palace.  
On another hand, the Duke of Mayenne being assassinated is a complete invention on my part - irl the man lived many years more, but here Charles IX needs to placate his aunt, so he offers her one of the Catholic faction's heads, so to speak.


	8. A lame and unstable situation

One year later, King Charles IX died, turned into a skeleton by fever and tuberculosis, literally sweating blood on his sheets and coughing hard enough to shred his lungs. The queen was, according to the custom, confined for forty days in a room draped in black, herself dressed all in white. She came out when it was confirmed that she was not with child. The crown thus passed to the late king’s younger brother, Henri of Valois, who had come back in all haste from the kingdom of Poland, where the nobles had elected him as their monarch a year prior. He had hated the experience, the cultural contrast likely too brutal for him, and was delighted to see France again, after a costly detour by Venice and its charming courtesans. He had brought back spices, silks and forks.

His crowning was relatively simple. Some things were more urgent than dazzling festivities, first of all finding a wife for the king. If Henri the Third did not have children, the throne would then pass to his younger brother, the last of Catherine’s sons, François of Valois, known as slightly unbalanced. The next candidate was Henri of Navarre, still firmly Protestant, and even more now that he had succeeded in escaping from Paris to run towards La Rochelle, then to his small mountain kingdom, where no one who try and uproot him. 

# # 

Meanwhile in Italy, the death of Duchess Renée had put a damper on the cultural life in Modena for a few months, which the regnant duke and his wife had used to carry on with their territorial acquisitions, using for that goal the rich inheritance they had just received. The duchy now owned three islands in the Adriatic sea, a trading fleet worthy of that name and its border with the papal states had lengthened along the properties it bought. The Pope did not bother himself with this topic any more, as he had many more problems to treat, between the multiplication of heretics and the scandals shaking the high nobility in Rome and its province. 

It gave the couple free rein to act in all the peninsula. Alice had even succeeded in pushing some pawns into the Habsburg family, by marrying her second daughter Giovanna to one of the Austrian archdukes. The young princess of Este would probably never be an empress of the Holy Empire, but she nonetheless found herself in a choice position to send intelligence to her mother and aunt about what happened on that side. It had been a pleasure for her to learn how to code messages and use invisible ink. 

# # 

Seeing that the Spaniards were still active in the Atlantic, hoping to capture English or Dutch ships, Elizabeth had finally called Francis Drake back from his so-called vacation in the Irish Sea in order to remind Philip who held the reins in the Channel and on the road to Northern America. 

The privateer was summoned in the monarch’s office to receive his new mission. The man was impatient, she could feel it. He accepted that new campaign with obvious satisfaction and travelled to Plymouth post hast to get started on his operation. 

At first they took small ships, on the days where poor weather could have explained the disappearance of a transport. Then the privateer ventured a bit further from the coast to hunt bigger preys. Elizabeth was delighted. Captain Drake did not lack in presence neither in charm, and his reputation as a pirate added to the somewhat scandalous aura surrounding him. Furthermore, he never forgot to have some precious present sent to his queen with each successful expedition, which meant that Elizabeth’s personal coffers grew richer as regularly as the Treasury... and Drake and his crews themselves. All things considered, he interested her… The reports he presented at each return from a mission could cover for more personal conversation if the need ever arose, she speculated. Preferably while wearing the jewels that set the emeralds and pearls he had offered her, as a true gentleman. 

Then, considering the increasing aggressivity of the Spaniard captains, Elizabeth decided it was time to call them to order, and ordered Drake to attack their settings on the western coast of South America with five well-armed ships. 

After a first departure reported because of a storm, the ships left Plymouth again during January,1578. Elizabeth could only wish them good luck, before receiving the first letter from the squadron, which would probably reach them from the Azores or the coast of Morocco. 

“Who would have thought, the work of a king means learning patience before anything else…” 

# # 

_Some months later…_

Elizabeth read the letter from Paris and felt tears prick the corners of her eyes. Her god-daughter, little princess Marie of France, had just died, barely aged six. The child had lost her father at just tow, and had lived in Amboise, separated from her mother. What a sad and short life hers had been. The queen also thought about the child’s mother, her namesake Elisabeth of Austria. She had gone back to her homeland a year prior, and since her entourage would not stop harassing her so she would marry again. So far, she had refused every new alliance, devoting herself to the memory of her late husband and child, as well as charities. It was even said that her confessor, who had gone to fetch her in the kitchens of the convent where she was helping the nuns to prepare soup for the poor, had ended with a sauce pan thrown to his head, so much the princess had been exasperated by this endless harassment. 

And letters from France were growing more and more scarce. Of her French nephews only Henri and Marguerite remained (François had never bothered to write her even an express), and never brother and sister had been more at odds. Since the death of Claude, duchess of Lorraine, Marguerite was more isolated than ever ; She scarcely saw her husband, often away at war, and had to face the hostility of her subjects, who denounced the fact she remained Catholic and that she had not given her husband an heir. Henri of Navarre having already sired two bastard daughters (as far as common knowledge went), it seemed, this time, that Marguerite was the root cause of the couple’s sterility, but neither her husband nor she completely despaired and during their few encounters, tried to fulfil their dynastic duty. did not lack for courage, given the numerous backstabbings that occurred between them month after month, and not even counting the horns they were giving each other. 

Henri III did not lie idle either to insure a progeny. To the surprise of many – and the consternation of some – the king chose for his wife a cousin of the Guises, Louise of Vaudémont-Lorraine. A lovely blond with pink cheeks and dark brown eyes, she had all the allure and elegance of her relatives without anything of their quarrelling nature. She was a kind, pious and well-learnt woman and, people noticed soon enough much in love with her husband. Married in February of 1575, the new queen got with child almost at once, but miscarried during May. To get all the chances on their side, her husband and she almost completely stopped sleeping in different chambers, and went in pilgrimage again and again. In spite of those efforts, nothing changed, and it seemed that the youngest of the Valois siblings, Duke François, would end up wearing the crown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> May I confess something? I feel more and more like retiring completely from several fandoms I used to enjoy, given the state of almost civil war in them. I don't find that much comfort in writing any more either...


	9. Scottish stories

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here I thought that being locked up at home would help me write faster and more... Unlike at the office, there are books here, and pencils and fabrics, so this might explain my lack of productivity in terms of fanfictions :)  
As for you, wherever you are, I hope you are not getting too bored.  
#StayHome

In the beginning of 1578, the queen of England faced a personal problem, on top of the Spaniards and the civil war in France, which was finding a proper match for her daughter and heiress, who was going to celebrate her nineteenth birthday. Southern Europe could not be considered, mostly because of conflicting religions, and the parcelling of some states made them puny associates as well. Marrying one of their sons to the future queen bordered misalliance.

In spite of that, diplomatic letters coming from Spain arrived on her desk to suggest potential alliances that would « restore the civil peace » on the continent. Elizabeth’s counter-proposal was very simple: any attempt to interfere in the local politics would see Mary Stuart’s head on a spike and the most virulent Catholics expelled from the country. As for the young king of Scotland, then twelve years old, it was high time to find him a wife, and preferably one who would make him forget any idea of ever allying with Spain – his subjects being in majority Protestant, it might cost him dearly, but who knows? 

But the queen of England had only one candidate at hand, who was her daughter Matilda. It did not please her much. Of course, the Stuarts had Tudor blood, but the idea that Matilda might become queen of Scotland before inheriting the English crown, and thus appear as an equal to her mother, irritated Elizabeth greatly. However… the queen had been told, over and over, since her childhood, that a monarch should always faire passer the good of her kingdom before her personal interests. If they matched, all the better. If not, she should just be patient and grit her teeth through it. 

Anyway, a wedding would have to wait a bit to be celebrated. The boy had just proven his virility and he would not be a man grown before three or four years, according to the royal doctors. One could discuss a betrothal, however. 

As it happened, the princess of Wales was dreaming of an opportunity to leave Court and most of all, the omnipresent shadow of her mother. To open her mouth during council sessions was in itself an ordeal. Paying a visit to a potential fiancé would be a perfect excuse, she decided. James Stuart was not the first prince who could ask for her hand, but until then she had only received letters from second or third sons, and none who understood the English situation. Furthermore, the Lutheran doctrine practised by her would-be husbands did not fit a marriage where the wife would have more power than her husband. 

# # 

_Two months later…_

The northern road was the most calamitous that Princess Matilda had ever used. As much as the ones in the south had been at least partially paved and built with ditches to gather rain water, this one was just a succession of muddy ruts. The princess had given up any idea of travelling by coach, to ride her horse all the way, except of course when it started to rain, which happened quite often. 

The progress was slowed down by numerous stops the various castles along the way, where the lords all wished to welcome properly the crown princess, an event that their grandchildren would still talk about, probably. Fortunately her steward had made sure several trunks of presents for those provincial lordlings were loaded in the wagons; enough would remain to satisfy the Scottish Court. 

The slate roofs and granite walls of Edinburg appeared in sight in the first week of May, and the sun which for once accepted to show up gave them a rather nice air. Letters travelling between the two capitols as well as messengers wearing the princess of Wales’ livery had forewarned the king of her coming, so that she would not find closed doors when she arrived, standing straight on the saddle, before the city walls. A score of lancers walked before her to open the path to the castle. A bit gloomy for her tastes. Hampton and Whitehall showed a more pleasant aspect. Matilda even repressed a small shiver as she passed under the arch leading to the first courtyard of the royal residence. 

A somewhat overawed chamberlain had their mounts and coaches sent to the stables; the man seemed quite embarrassed regarding the protocol he should follow. True enough, an English prince crossing the border usually meant nothing good for the Scots. 

Matilda and her retinue were able to wash and dress in clean clothes, more fitting for their rank and Court, in chambers decorated in a French style, a memory from the years Queen Mary had spend along the Loire. Some of the tapestries must have come from Aubusson, by the way. 

The princess of Wales walked to the great reception hall wondering what she was going to find; she had no idea of her cousin’s personality or appearance. 

She discovered a twelve-years old boy with a rather sad and shy face. Small wonder for a prince who had grown up without sans parents, and had received a crown still in the cradle. With blue-grey eyes and chestnut hair, he gave quite a melancholy impression. Nonetheless, he produced a kind enough smile to greet his cousin, bid her welcome and invite her to join him at the high table. 

She came to sit to his right, aware of all the more or less curious gazes upon her. At least none seemed openly hostile. She gave King James her most charming smile and watched the servants carrying in napkins and cutlery, while musicians started a discreet melody to entertain the guests. 

# # 

_Three months later… _

Matilda had dawdled in the Scottish capitol more than scheduled, so much the nobles and her cousin had thawed towards her?. She had been riding, hunting, had travelled on the river in an ornate barge, spent a lot of time reading and playing music… James had offered her a well-trained falcon as a parting gift, not as a farewell. The visit had been fruitful, and she had not forgotten to slip some… gold and silver incitations to several of the king’s councillors to make sure they would oppose any other union, particularly with a Scandinavian princess. 

“You took a lot of time,” was the first thing her mother told her when they met again. 

Matilda bit the inside of her cheek so she would not reply too sharply. Elizabeth could be just as frightening as her father Henry, though in a less spectacular manner. The princess made herself remain and held forth to detail all the results obtained during her stay, without too many embellishments, as she knew very well that her mother would never be entirely satisfied. Elizabeth always found something to nitpick about in what her daughter did, and that since she had been granted the title of Princess of Wales. At least the commoners loved their future queen, if the warm welcomes they had given her along her travel were any indication. 

“You certainly did not waste your money. Our position is reinforced in Scotland, and we just have to wait for the king to come into manhood, while cultivating his interest, of course. On another topic, during your absence, we received excellent news from Captain Drake’s expedition.” 

The princess was all ears. 

“His squadron captured two Portuguese ships in January, before sailing for the crossing of the Atlantic, and we know that they reached the American coast. It is not, from what we were told, a good season in that region, so the ships should not cross the straight to the Pacific ocean at once. But we will receive other news soon, at least through the Spanish ambassador’s complaints.” 

# # 

Matilda champed at the bit, patiently waiting for her cousin James’ fourteenth birthday to leave again for Scotland and be able to marry him. Not that she was madly in love with the boy, though he did not lack for conversation nor kindness in the letters he wrote her, but it was high time to get a crown and escape a bit from maternal influence. 

King James too had to face à a mother who was, to say the least, troublesome and quarrelsome. Since Mary Stuart had heard about the marriage project, likely thanks a servant gossiping, she harassed her son and her former councillors with a constant flow of letters either furious or supplicating, endlessly arguing that they should not pursue such a plan. The young king finally resolved to pay her a visit to put an end, at last, to this tiring power play. 

He could as well be talking to a wall. His mother was a perfect stranger for him, and reciprocally. Mary saw her son as a usurper, and she had not renounced to get the English crown as well yet. 

“No, Mother, I am sorry,” James cut in in the middle of one of those rants, “but your claim to the throne of England is tenuous at best. After Elizabeth, Matilda will be queen. If Matilda dies before her mother, or is crowned but dies without issue, your ambitions will not go any further. Alice Tudor, as far as I know, may have signed sign a renunciation to her rights when the married the duke of Ferrara, but you must not forget the Suffolks, whose claim will surpass yours. You arrive only after them in the succession line. Our best chance to ever get this crown that you desire so much is my marriage to Matilda. Which, honestly, would not displease me.” 

The son’s visit ended with a scene from the enraged mother, and King James thought wiser to leave the place to go back to Edinburg et wait for the opportunity to marry the princess of Wales, older than him of course but gifted with so many qualities… not even counting her crown. He was legally an adult, but he still lacked one year or two, according to his personal doctor, to be a fully grown man. 

# # 

_April 1580_

At last, after seemingly endless talks and hair-splitting about the future queen of Scotland’s dowry and residence, the wedding could be celebrated. 

The ceremony that married by proxy Princess Matilda et King James via his ambassador was remarkably simple, and if the queen of England witnessed it, she did so with a disgruntled face from start to end. She signed the marriage act with an angry swirl and left even before the small feast that followed. 

The princess and her cousins Boleyn, arrived from Hever for the occasion, had to entertain the courtiers and manage servants and musicians. Fortunately they succeeded without a hitch and put the queen’s hasty departure on her age. For the first time, the courtiers allowed themselves to laugh at their monarch’s expense. Then they followed the bride’s lead to dance all night, pausing only to drink a cup of wine before going back to their merriment. 

The revelries lasted for another day, then the princess of Wales prepared her luggage to leave for Edinburg. Elizabeth had rather strictly limited what her daughter could bring: books, clothes and tapestries were allowed to travel with the princess, but jewels and money would have to be recounted by the Exchequer before her departure. Matilda greeted her teeth but did not comment, not wishing to give her mother another opportunity to mock her “immaturity”. She left London behind with a huge sigh of relief. 

Once on site, she could see that the Scots reacted exactly like the English when they were promised two days of revelries and good meals at the king’s expense: they rushed into the streets, sang their king’s praises… and joyfully overindulged in beer and grain alcohol. 

The ceremony was a bit more lavish than in London, according to the princess, who spent a good part of the night dancing – and get to know – with all the high lords of the Court, avant before the courtiers escorted the newlyweds in their bedroom with cheers and encouragements. 

The young king must have taken a few lessons with a chambermaid, as he seemed rather at ease and knew his business. At least, that was Matilda’s impression on the following morning. This being said, the long hours she had spent on the saddle had also certainly helped a lot. 

At last, the marriage was valid and no one could contradict that. 

Not even Felipe II of Spain, who raged in his office of the Escurial when the news reached him, furious to see Scotland escape his grasp. He did not despair, however, to succeed one day in conquering England to put his daughter Isabelle Claire on its throne. The infanta would just have the North Sea to cross, after all, as she was already governor of the Netherlands. But for that to happen, he would have to drive out the current tenant.


	10. The Noble Captain Drake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! Problem when you spent nearly 24/7 at home, you start doing a lot of things that are not writing...  
Anyway, I still managed to finish this chapter.

_26th September, 1580_

Drake’s little fleet came back three years after its departure from Plymouth, reduced of four of the original ships and completed by a Portuguese and a Spanish one, but with full holds, and much more accurate maps of the Pacific coasts. 

The news of their return reach the city from the harbour watch, though it had been known for about two weeks that the small squadron would soon arrive home. The announcement led to a rush towards the shore. There were in fact so many people on the piers that a few onlookers fell in the water and had to be fished out of it post haste, not knowing how to swim. 

At last, the ships appeared at the entrance of the harbour, the paint of their figureheads chipped off, their sails partially torn. The public still waited for the gangplanks to be lowered to the pier to approach the new heroes of the city, and by extension, of the country. Much to the families’ grief as they looked for known faces, about sixty sailors and officers had managed to reach England. 

The agents of the tax authorities were waiting as well, and Drake signalled his men to unload their plunder, which proved to be phenomenal. A few chests were opened to show to all the witnesses the success of that campaign. Pearls, gold ingots and emeralds shone under the sun, to the crowd’s cheers. The smell of dried chili floated in the air as a bag was passed from hand to hand to the warehouses, followed by crates of cocoa beans and some casks of wine from Chile. 

The updated maps of the American coasts were brought to the Admiralty, where Lord Howard and his captains immediately began to work on them to study the new possibilities offered by Drake’s discoveries. Nonetheless, travelling to the Pacific and Sunda islands was one thing, bypassing the Spanish and Portuguese monopoles decreed there was another, and risky. Les tracings made north of California were an excellent surprise as well, and the further one travelled from the equator, the less the enemy’s presence would be felt. 

The chests were transferred under heavy watch to the Tower in London for estimation. There might be several thousands pounds at least, and the queen’s share, half the total, would send the State’s earnings through the roof. 

# # 

Drake went to Court while the staff at the Exchequer weighed and counted the pesos he had brought back to London. The queen saw that he was welcomed and celebrated properly, officially for having completed a successful travel around the world and, unlike Magellan, coming back alive. 

Good courtier as he was, he had picked several specially beautiful pieces to offer them directly to the queen, particularly a gold crucifix of remarkable size, as well as a talkative, scarlet parrot that was led, with a list of instructions, to the royal menagerie. And since he always made sure to watch his back, a messenger had left for Edinburgh to bring the queen of Scotland a pretty gift as a show of good will and respect. 

Close to the dais where the queen was seated, thanks to their kinship, James Boleyn observed his cousin’s behaviour towards the captain and pinched his lips. The dashing Drake was going to receive a poor surprise if he ever saw his queen without her powdered colours nor a wig… A smirk crossed his face before he reported his attention on the revelries and the courtiers’ happy exclamations. 

Not everyone, however, shared this enthusiasm. 

To the surprise of absolutely no one at Court, the Spanish ambassador asked, not to say he demanded, for an audience with the queen. Elizabeth had to end the one she was granting to Dutch agents ready to leave for Cadix, and ordered to have the diplomat ushered in. The man looked nothing diplomatic when he addressed the queen; he was much angered, to the point that his goatee gave the impression it was bristling like the fur of a furious cat. 

The ambassador requested no more no less than having the pirate sent to the Tower of London as quickly as possible. That incarceration should end by an execution remained unsaid. 

“I understand you perfectly, Excellence, the queen assured, and can promise you that this ruffian will be rewarded as he deserves.” 

“I can only praise Your Majesty’s wisdom.” 

The nobles surrounding the monarch traded perplexed looks while she called for a cloak and had her coach prepared to reach as quickly as possible the mooring of the _Golden Hind_, which had sailed up the Thames to anchor in London. 

Elizabeth kept an angry face during the whole trip from Hampton Court to the piers. Internally she was much amused by the good joke she would serve to the Spanish ambassador, as well as Drake and their audience. 

After a bumpy trip on the cobblestones, the royal coach stopped at the foot of the ladder leading to the _Golden Hind_, Francis Drake’s flagship. The queen got out, put on her most displeased face and marched straight on the privateer who was waiting for her on the pier, her satins and lace swishing furiously. 

The man bowed deeply before his liege. 

“My lady...” he began. 

Elizabeth immediately interrupted him, before making him go back onto his deck where she followed, apparently to give him a monstrous scolding. 

“From what I just learned, you have attacked and plundered far more Spanish ships than you had previously claimed, pirate!” 

“Well… until now Your Majesty saw it with complaisance… and the royal Treasury did not get any poorer for it,” Drake defended himself, taken aback. 

She smiled as she watched him fumble for words, when he was usually so quick to respond. Turning towards the closest courtier, one of her Howard cousins, she asked for his sword, which the gentleman provided with a somewhat worried expression. Then she ordered Drake, not particularly reassured, to kneel. He hesitated for a second before complying, wondering what his queen had in mind. The sharp blade tapped him lightly on the shoulder. 

“Are you afraid? Yet I promise you that you have nothing to fear, _Sir_ Francis.” 

There were some surprises gasps behind her, which prompted a small satisfied smirk on her lips. Drake himself had surely not expected that. 

The news of this improvised ennoblement would spread quickly all across the capitol, and the Spanish ambassador would likely not be the last to know. 

This being done, it was time to show some more _personal_ favour to the privateer to thank him for all the gifts he had brought for his queen. But for this purpose, better show herself at her best, which was a bit problematic for the ageing queen. 

The only detail over which Elizabeth did not mock her cousin Mary Stuart was the use of a wig. Herself now had to wear one, what little hair remained on her head having turned grey. If the courtiers found the contrast between her red postiche and her wrinkled face ridiculous, no one dared say a word. To try and avoid critics, the queen used make-up excessively, but the lead in her white powder only made things worse and she frightened herself sometimes when she looked at her mirror. Well, some pink notes on her lips and cheeks, and something to hide the circles growing under her eyes should be enough for a private meeting. 

Rumour said that Diane of Poitiers had kept her freshness past fifty thanks to ice cold baths. Well, she would not risk anything by trying – except, perhaps, to sneeze for a few days. If she could get some of her youth back at such a low cost, being cold would not be a major issue. 

Then a messenger came to bring a letter to the captain, inviting him for a supper in Her Majesty’s apartments. Drake was not a beginner and had a little idea about what the queen would require of him, thus he put some effort in his appearance too. He was a knight now, he had some obligations. 

# # 

Elizabeth considered herself very pleased with the evening and the following night. 

Curiously, Drake found himself extremely busy aboard his ship, using the preparation of another expedition a pretext to refuse other private suppers. 

James Boleyn said nothing, but he cashed in consistent amounts of money through bets, some having believed that Drake would be enough of a courtier to hide his disgust. 

# # 

_Mid-December, 1580_

The queen of Scotland had just come back from her misty kingdom to spend the Christmas days in London, but the mood in the council was nothing festive. Philip II had let his… displeasure be know after the ennoblement of Captain Drake, which he considered as a casus belli. 

“Lady Stuart’s life is not a worry for Philip any more,” Ralph Sadler stated sourly. “He will not give up his plan to conquer Europe for one person. The universal Habsburg monarchy is far too important to him.” 

“Not for one person?” Matilda commented. “Not even for his heiress? The prince of Asturias is out of reach and Princess Catherine Michele renounced to all her rights to the crown when she married the Duke of Savoy, but Archduchess Isabelle?” 

Walsingham gave her a half-smile. 

“I see what you are considering, Highness, but I am not certain that even this could turn him away from his project. He had his first son locked up in a cell and let him die there. Of course, Don Carlos was not the brightest person in the kingdom nor a very good man, but from a father to his son, that was rather… extreme. So no, I am not sure than his daughter’s life, no matter how cherished she is, might tilt the scale.” 

“What a pity… Unfortunately, Philip himself will never get close to a battlefield. Do you think that some of my aunt’s agents might operate anyway? Her daughter sends her enough information from Vienna.” 

Walsingham looked doubtful, but granted the point. 

“Well, to consult her on that topic will not cost us anything. Nonetheless, the security around the king never goes lax; it will not be an easy mission.”


	11. Heads, spikes, walls…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think you can see where this is going.  
My apologies for any spelling or grammatical mistake I might have left in this text.

Unfortunately for Matilda’s plans, the intelligence provided by her cousin Giovanna via the Italian and English agents who roamed Europe showed no flaw in the security surrounding the various Habsburg monarchs. Supporting revolts seemed, all things considered, more practical, even though more costly and longer. But the funds brought back by Drake, which a part had been invested with various bankers, would feed one or two seditious movements for a while, particularly in the provinces that had partially converted to the Reform.

The young queen left for her capitol as soon as the roads were not a muddy swamp any more, and began calculating how much it would cost to have at least part of it paver. They would need several times Drake’s treasure for that. 

Her husband welcomed her back so warmly that three months later, it was announced through both kingdoms that the queen of Scotland was with child. Without being too hasty in rejoicing, traders, peasants and artisans began to rub their hands with some satisfaction and relief. 

# # 

Spring brought back a flow of trading ships from the Netherlands back in the Cadix harbour. Among the passengers going down to the pier before checking at the customs office were two agents commissioned by England to keep an eye on everything that was afoot on site, rumours of mass ship buildings having reached the Admiralty. 

As soon as they arrived, they saw they would not be disappointed and understood the journey had not been made in vain. Wagons brought tree trunks and bushels of hemp all day long, and everywhere the sound of saws and hammers drowned all the rest. As scheduled, the two men went to the sails factory where one of their colleagues was already waiting for them. They would doubtlessly end the mission with their fingers covered in callus and blisters, if not at the end of a rope, but it was for a good cause. They would have things to report even before spending a month in the city. 

# # 

_June 1581_

While the spies kept an eye on everything that happened in Cadix, the situation in France worsened by the day. 

King Henri was sitting in the gloom of his office in the Louvre, for once deserted by the notaries and lawyers who usually worked with him, brooding over unpleasant thoughts. His wife would never give him a child, he was now sure of it. He even considered as suspicious the hurry with which her doctors had given her the purge that had ended her first (and last) pregnancy. Now his heir apparent was his cousin Navarre... but a mostly Catholic kingdom would never accept a Protestant king, and the other Henri did not seem ready to convert. This being said, his ambition would certainly lead him to choose the crown rather than his religion. 

But before he could transmit the throne to the prince of Navarre, the king had to keep it, which was not an easy task while facing his cousins Guise, who claimed Charlemagne as an ancestor to support their views on the crown. 

Henri shook his head. Even if he had not been the queen of England’s nephew, it was his duty to support her against Spain. In order to do so, he had to solve the Guise problem first. And sadly, only one solution would give the necessary results. Political assassination was not to his taste, personally, but a king could not afford to have the feelings of a simple private individual. He had to get rid of the two Guise brothers still alive, as well as their sister Montpensier, if possible. There was enough fanatics everywhere in the country that he could find one or two that would be amenable to do the dirty job, without even noticing that they were manipulated for that purpose. 

# # 

_October 1581_

The Scottish royal couple’s first child was a girl, whom the royal doctor deemed rather too pale ans small. She survived her birth and the following days nonetheless. She was named Eleanor, and quickly nicknamed the Princess of Autumn by her parents’ subjects. Her sex would no prevent her from wearing the crown so she was considered satisfying on both sides of Hadrian’s Wall. Her cousin the king of France readily accepted to be her godfather, while the princess Anna of Denmark became her godmother. 

Elizabeth allowed herself a smile. The future of her dynasty now showed brighter colours, though her new status as a grandmother did not please her much. 

# # 

_January 1582_

Ralph Sadler read the paper Walsingham had given him several times. He found it a bit hard to believe that Mary Stuart had so easily fallen into the trap Elizabeth’s advisors had set for her, but the result was right there. They could accuse and trial the former queen of Scotland for high treason. With a tired sigh, he picked the bell set on his desk and called his clerk, ordering him to go and ask a private audience with the queen. 

Knowing that neither of them, and even less the two of them together, would bother her with trifles, Elizabeth granted it at once, and felt quite perplexed as she considered her councillors’ reluctant faces. 

“What is it, my lords?” 

“Information regarding Lady Stuart’s activities, Your Majesty.” 

Walsingham et Sadler both seemed quite embarrassed. She signalled them to go on. 

“Alas, my lady, we can only confirm the persistent rumours. Your cousin truly sends coded messages from her jail, most often hidden in clothes to be washed or apparently innocent letters that she writes her son, which are read before reception by her supporters. We set a few traps, and...” 

“She swallowed them hook, line and sinker, I suppose?” 

“Indeed... Her replies were deciphered thanks to a servant’s assistance; the man gave us her code, and we know she considers with great favour the idea of an assassination which would allow her to get free, with a double crown as a prize. The annulment of her son’s marriage with the princess of Wales is also among her projects, though it was consumed and fertile.” 

Sadler handed her some of the messages in question. 

Elizabeth quickly read those notes, her face cold. She could not be really sure her cousin had truly written those so compromising words. But the safety of her country and her heirs made it so she had to believe it. 

Philip II made things worse for Stuart a few weeks later by sending an official message to London. 

“Our estimated colleague asks, or rather demands, that our cousin should be released, pretending to believe she is jailed for her faith only. Pretending as well to ignore the claims she would lay on our throne, the fact she crossed the border without our invitation nor a safe conduct, and still exchanges letters with foreign agents… beginning with the Spaniards. Does he think we are so dim-witted?” 

It was a rhetorical question, but she saw a few smiles crack on her ministers’ faces nonetheless. They vanished quickly, however, when it was decided to follow with the accusation of the dethroned queen and to inform the king of Scotland about the last events. 

# # 

_February 1582_

James hesitated about what to do. Morality would have him defend his mother, but he barely knew her and their few meetings had always ended poorly. In Mary’s eyes, he was nothing but a usurper, an ingrate son. He felt unable to grant his mother any quality that would redeem her. She had opposed his marriage with Matilda teeth and nails when it was the only legal way offered to the Stuarts to sit on the throne of England without a long and costly conflict that could have almost been label as a civil war. According to the copies of messages that his mother-in-law had sent him, Mary had even considered declaring Eleanor a bastard and to unload her hatred on a six-month old baby. He decided to let Elizabeth act as she saw fit. 

# # 

_April 1582_

Without any emotion, Elizabeth briskly signed her cousin’s death warrant. _No one is as cursed as the kinslayer..._ but to Hell if she let Mary Stuart steal her daughter’s throne. She already had to accept that marriage between Matilda and James, but to allow the fallen queen of Scotland to take any kind of control over the future of England, never! 

A strong escort of near a hundred men was sent to Bolton Castle to bring the prisoner to London, so that she would be present for the reading of the criminal charges brought against her. There would not be a real trial. Mary would have nothing to argue with her judges. It was only a formality to inform her of her pending fate. Elizabeth refused to see her or to reply the indignant and furious letters her cousin had sent her along her way to the capitol and during her detention in the Tower. 

# # 

Elizabeth insisted that Matilda should be present for Mary’s execution. Herself had witnessed the beheading of her grand-uncle the duke of Norfolk when she had been barely seven, her adult daughter must be able to do so. 

But the princess could scarcely overcome her repulsion before this death by the axe (several blows were needed to kill the convicted captive), and nearly retched when the executioner picked Mary’s head by the hair without noticing that the defunct queen wore a wig, which caused the severed head to fall with a thud on the scaffold. Turning green, the princess of Wales rose from her seat and left the royal stand in haste, without even taking her leave from her mother. She was not the only one to turn away from that view, and the executioner had to leave the place post haste, as the audience began to grumble at his mishandling. Elizabeth remained cold and still as stone. She already had other ideas in mind. 

Among the lady’s personal effects, confiscated after her arrest, were several costly dresses and the magnificent set of pearls (necklace, earrings and bracelets) that Queen Catherine had offered her daughter-in-law for her wedding. Elizabeth decided that, anyway, those jewels should certainly have been offered to Matilda for her own wedding with King James, thus she seized the pearls and added them to the royal treasury without wasting time. Barely a month after her cousin’s death, the queen wore those jewels before the whole Court... If some thought it was done in poor taste, they kept their mouth shut, at least when they were within the monarch’s earshot. 

# # 

_June 1582_

The situation in France had worsened again. The Guises received Spanish gold to pay for mercenaries and keep the civil war going on in the country, which prevented the king from assisting England in case it was attacked. And it would be, no doubt, as the execution of the Catholic Mary Stuart had made Spain and its allies scream blue murder. 

Elizabeth remained hunched over her maps. The situation was not as favourable – far from it – as when her mother had faced Charles Quint. Philip had more ships, more money, more men, and France, stuck into its own religious conflict fed by by Spain’s coffers, could not serve as an obstacle any more. The Protestants from the United Provinces might come to her help, certainly, but they were few and already kept busy by the duke of Parma’s army, currently located in Flanders. 

England would have to attack first rather than wait for an enemy fleet to appear before its coasts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The two Dutch spies going to Cadix are a nod to an excellent Belgian comic, _Cori_, which I highly recommend, if it was translated to English. Also the source of my fondness for Francis Drake, by the way.


	12. Aggressive moves

_January 1583_

Only one thing truly protected England, Scotland and their allies, and it was the lengthy time required to build a fleet. The fast, small and manoeuvrable ships that escorted galleons loaded with gold and jewels across the Atlantic could not suffice to carry all the troops Philip II wanted to send towards the British Islands. He would certainly need a whole year to obtain all the units he wished for, which left a welcome respite to his enemies, even more as Matilda’s daughter had not survived her second winter. As long as another child was not born – and by God’s grace, Matilda was once again pregnant – the double crown would remain unsteady. Philip would learn about it soon ; this was not news that could be hidden for long, as a royal child, no matter how young, had to be seen from time to time. 

It was not enough, though. They needed more time, delay the building of the invasion fleet… 

Drake and his colleagues, such as Walter Raleigh, would have some hard work to do again. While the latter left to distract the Spaniards in the Atlantic, the former was sent to Cadix. 

# # 

_May 1583_

The queen read again the report from the Dutch spies stationed in Cadix, sent the day after the bombardment of the city by the fleet Drake had led around the harbour. Both men had to leave the town post haste after the attack, but they had still taken some tome to note all the damages caused by Drake: destroyed sail-lofts, burnt rigging and barrels factories, harbour filled with shipwrecks... The Spanish would need at least weeks to repair the infrastructures and replace the men, workers or soldiers, killed by canon balls or fire, and they would not be able to leave before the storms season; their only option was to delay their invasion attempt to the following year but in the meantime their crews of roped-in peasants would have partly deserted. Furthermore, the barrels used for transporting water and food being destroyed, Philip II would be forced to have new ones made with wood much too green, and everything stored inside would rot quickly, which would create a risk of epidemics and starvation on his ships. But they had to do more. 

Thus an order was sent to the spies still proliferated in the town to burn the ships that had escaped the first attack and to sabotage the stores of gunpowder that had survived the fires. They obliged with a diligence which honoured them, though their numbers would not allow them to destroy the whole fleet, and the queen then ordered that a large amount of money should be put aside to reward those who would managed to come back to Holland or Great-Britain. 

While waiting for more news, Elizabeth suggested, not to say she ordered, a visit from her daughter in the English capitol, meaning to keep her there until she gave birth. It did not please Matilda nor her husband much, but the princess of Wales still obeyed her mother’s injunction, aware that she should create her own party in the English Court if she wished to reign without too many internal issues. Thus she took a ship to reach the mouth of the Thames, the coach being far too dangerous for her pregnancy. 

# # 

_June 1583_

Matilda settled in Hampton Court to wait for her child’s birth in peace and there, she created her own entourage of ladies and courtiers, calling for singers and musicians to entertain all those people, while herself had to give up even the idea of dancing and kept herself busy with sewing shirts and little caps for her future child. Roses and small thistles quickly lined up along the hems, delicately embroidered with green, red, white and blue threads. 

Her mother had her closely monitored by several doctors and midwives, and did not hesitate, if needed, to have the queen of Scotland’s mail opened to ensure she followed all the recommendations aiming for the birth of a healthy child. 

# # 

_16th of August 1583_

The whole of Hampton Court, and by extension the city of London, held their breath while the princess of Wales gave birth to her second child. 

Matilda experienced a pleasant feeling of pride when the midwife showed her her son. Her heir. 

"Edward," she decided. "By the grace of God future king of Scotland and England." 

She held him in her arms for a while, delicately petting the thin pale down on his head, before giving him to his wetnurse. 

Meanwhile a valet had left the palace running to find a horse and ride to Whitehall. 

"The princess of Wales gave birth to a prince, Your Majesty." 

The queen refrained from saying out loud, but in her humble opinion, it was the first time her daughter had done anything properly. It was also the first time in many decades that a ruling monarch could witness the birth of a grandson, and a healthy one, which only improve the matter. Of course, she could not prevent Matilda to name the boy as she wished, but Elizabeth could very well grant her that point. 

It was Elizabeth who had hired the future king’s wetnurses and doctors, and her as well who would pick his tutors, at least the way she imagined things. The child’s rooms were set close to her own rather than his mother’s and progressively, the queen almost completely confiscated her grandson. Matilda would only see him during dinner, and after supper. 

Of course, this show of mistrust did not improve the relations between the princess of Wales and her mother. James was not satisfied with the situation and demanded that the child came back in his father’s country before he turned two years old, without negotiation. Elizabeth rolled her eyes but agreed nonetheless. The household she had chosen for Edward would follow him to Scotland anyway. She now needed to find godfathers and godmothers for the future monarch… 

# # 

_20th of September 1583_

The news of Luigi de Este’s death caused the queen of England to curse in the privacy of her solar. Her brother-in-law was, according to Alice, in excellent health for his age and still active. His passing could be labelled as suspicious. Thus she took her quill to warn her others allies to have their food and drinks checked and to never go outside without protection. 

She learnt afterwards that the new dowager duchess of Ferrara had already sent letters with the same content. William of Orange, both Kings Henri and several German princes were among the recipients. Elizabeth emitted a satisfied groan. Her sister was still up to the game. 

Informations were transmitted to the Council, and on the following morning, Matilda also sent messengers to Edinburgh to warn her husband and ministers. 

# # 

_A month later…_

The warnings had been heeded, but a hired killer had managed nonetheless to sneak into the Taciturn’ house to unload his pistol on the stathouder. The guards had promptly arrested the Spanish agent while William of Orange received the most urgent care by a reasonably competent surgeon. The man succeeded in extracting the bullet, but could not repair all the damage it had caused to his patient’s spine. The Dutch ruler would, from now on, lead his country from an armchair, his last wife Louise de Coligny becoming his secretary as well as his nurse. 

Hearing about this, the king of France hired, on his cousin Navarre’s advice, about fifty Gascon guards whose loyalty to the Crown was spotless, whom Navarre had lectured at length, reminding them that their survival remained tied to their protégé. 

# # 

_Mid-January 1584_

Once the Christmas revelries had passed, kept relatively simple that year, Matilda travelled once again on the road to Scotland, bringing her son with her, the baby cosily nestled in a crib lined with furs and tartan blankets. For once, Elizabeth elected to let her daughter act as she pleased, and both mother and child reached their destination without incident. In mid-spring, the queen of Scotland would travel back to London to participate again in her mother’s council sessions. Tiring, but necessary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This time, William of Orange got a bit more lucky than in real life, but his current state of health won't make him a kinder nor a more patient ruler.


End file.
